Lateness of Things
by Anansay
Summary: [GSR] - Sometimes it might seem too late. But sometimes, people wait.


Lateness of Things 

By Anansay

May 5, 2003

The woman walked on in the night, her shoes making soft wet squishy sounds on the wet pavement. The light drizzle made her skin and clothes damp and made her normally straight hair frizzle into tight curls around her head. 

She didn't care. 

She was a ghost this night. Under a dark sky, no stars visible to light her way, she went by the light of the lamps - their spheres of light by cycle lighting and darkening her area. She went for light to darkness to light. Just like her life, it seemed. 

There were days when she could see clearly and she felt good and strong and able. 

And there were days when the clouds settled in her soul and she clawed her way around like a blind snake on the ground, neither seeing nor hearing anything, just feeling everything. Darkness ruled on those days. And lately the darkness seemed to come more and more and to last longer and longer, as though there were lamps along the road of her life that were burned out, sometimes many lamps one after the other so that she was in the darkness for longer than usual. 

On this night, all the lamps on the street worked and she could see clearly where her feet were travelling. However, it was a mockery of her life where her own personal lamps seemed to all have burned out leaving her in a perpetual state of obscurity. 

Hands shoved deep into pockets, head hung low and tucked into the upturned collar of her coat, she walked on, her shoes making little squishy sounds as they hit shallow puddle after shallow puddle. 

The blocks of houses drifted passed unseen as she moved on into the night, her body present but her mind far away. It rested with the thought of one person. The one person who had occupied her thoughts in many ways for the longest time. He was there and yet he was not. She could remember his laughing eyes and how his lips would pull up at the corners as he fought to suppress the smile that wanted to come out. He would hold her gaze for a moment too long before turning away and busying himself with something or other. There was always work that needed doing, it seemed. She would return his smile to his back and then turn to her own beckoning work. 

When they sat side by side, focused on the same point, it seemed she could sense his peripheral vision trained on her every movement: when her arm moved, his moved to accommodate; when her head moved to the side to get a better look, his head moved as well to allow her more room to see. They moved in a sort of synchronous dance, each aware of the other even if only for the sake of a peaceful work environment. 

But she was aware of him more acutely than she believed him to be of her. She could feel him beside her, her every fiber alert to his every nuance, the way his breathing would alter in response to a clue that might bring them closer to solving another puzzle of a crime, each muscle movement as he rearranged evidence to form a new, maybe clearer picture in his mind, each shift of his body after they'd been sitting for a long time. 

And she was also aware of how he would choose to position himself so close to her, sometimes leaning his body into hers as he would gaze over her shoulder at something, or his shoulder and thigh would push into hers if he sat next to her _and _they were alone. Sometimes his hand would come out to rest on her arm - sometimes even in the crook of her arm - or her lower back when at a crime scene. There seemed to be an almost undeniable urge to touch her when contact was a wholly unnecessary adjunct to their job. There was no need for it, and yet he would do it all the same. And when she would risk a sideways glance his way, it never failed to find him looking ahead as though he were unaware of what his hand was doing. Was he truly not conscious of how his body seemed to react to her presence? For a man who prized himself on his investigative abilities, it was odd to consider such a concept. And yet it was precisely what her own investigative abilities told _her. _Either he was a really good actor, or... he was totally ignorant! 

She turned a corner in an absent-minded bid of self-preservation. It was cool this night, but a cold only she could feel, hence the coat. Whereas in previous times thoughts of him could induce a whole body burning sensation, now it was a chilled feeling that crept into her bones. He was pulling away. As much as she would like to think that it might just be her, she was aware of how the "team" seemed to be falling apart. The cohesiveness and family atmosphere that had drawn her to remain in Vegas was disintegrating. Her first response was to blame the patriarch - Grissom - but that would be too pat. A family was created by _people _and not a single individual. No, it was something else and Grissom was only a part of it. The family unit was beginning to feel like a bunch of people working together, and _only _that. The idea of going to work no longer held much appeal to her. The idea of seeing Grissom no longer held much appeal to her. For a person can only bang their head against a brick wall so long before the idea that it simply isn't going to crack permeates the skull and the person turns around and walks away. 

The solitude that surrounded her was all-encompassing, creeping into every nook and cranny of her soul with roots shooting out to lodge itself permanently. There was no more denying that she was alone in this world. He would never acknowledge her as a woman. To him she was merely a co-worker, a person he saw when he worked and that was it. He denied everything that was between them by his mere apathy of emotion. 

She would turn around, leave the wall as is, and go on to live her life. He would never drop it, not a brick would fall out of place, he would make sure of that. The wall only became thicker over time, increasing whenever she tried to dismantle it for him. His fear of her drove him to immense assiduousness to himself. No one would be allowed into his innermost shell. No one. 

She rounded another corner and came to her building. With heavy footsteps, she mounted the stairs to her apartment, that dark and lonely place she called home to those who asked. But in truth it was merely a place to rest her weary soul after another shift's work with the undead of a supervisor. Dropping her keys on the table, she hung her coat and kicked off her shoes. Plopping herself on the couch, she lay her head back and closed her eyes, willing her body to warm itself. The tiredness was not a physical thing, but merely a manifestation of what resided in her soul. With a weary grunt, she rose and went to the kitchen and retrieved a beer from her fridge. She'd never been a drinker, but the time she'd spent with Hank had whet her appetite for a beer now and then. This was a time for a beer: a dark, lonely night spent by oneself in a dark and empty apartment. 

Back on the couch, she grabbed her remote and flicked on the television. Jumping through channels she finally chose a documentary and let it sit on a low volume, just loud enough for there to be some noise besides herself in her little world. At least when she looked over, she'd see a face looking back at her and talking to her, even though it was really only a television camera. It was a cheap imitation, but it's ersatz existence was soothing all the same.

Hopping into the shower, she let the hot water cascade down her overworked body, lulling her with its rhythmic pounding on her skin. She leaned against the wall, her eyes closed and felt the tension slowly leave her body until she was curled on the bottom of the tub, lying on her side, arms wrapped around herself in a fetal position. The water hit her body like needles but the numbness shielded her from the pain, it served only to hide the tears flowing down her face as her body convulsed in silent sobs. 

When the water began to cool, she pulled herself to a sitting position and shut it off. She sat in the tub, and listened to the tip-tap of the water leaving the pipes. It sounded like the drums of a native tribe - a slow methodical thumping of a small drum - that dissipated to nothing. When the silence returned, she pulled herself up and wrapped a towel around herself and headed for her bedroom. 

She sat on the edge of her bed and stared unseeing at the room: it's nightstand with the latest copy of a forensic magazine atop a fiction book she sometimes read to get her mind off work. The burgundy bedspread she'd bought when she first moved here, the dark red colour was an unconscious gesture of hope for her and Grissom. Now it sat there mocking her callow reverie. The hardwood floors, the petty pictures adorning the dark walls, it all seemed so trivial, these accouterments of life. 

With a heavy sigh, she dressed herself in some pajamas and crawled into bed, pulling the covers high up to her chin, effectively cocooning herself within them. 

Just as her eyes were closing to welcome the temporary respite of sleep, there was a knock on her door. With a groan, she rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head. _Stupid drunks! _But the knock came again, and there was no accompanying thunk of a drunken body falling against her door. Frowning and groaning again, she pulled on a housecoat and shuffled to the door. Keeping the chain lock on, she opened it a crack and without looking, "What do you want?"

"Uh, sorry for bothering you so late... I'll - uh - leave." Came the familiar soft voice. 

Her heart spasmed in her chest and she looked up just in time to see a head of peppered curls disappearing past her door jam. Grissom? What was he doing here at this time of night? She slammed the door shut, unchained it and then swung it open again. Sticking her head around the corner she called his name, "Grissom!?"

He stopped and turned around. He looked as though he's just lost his best friend: his face was drawn and his eyes were sunken in their sockets. His curly hair was even more so and matted to his head: a result of the dampness outside. His shoulders were slumped even more the usual. He'd either just woken up or hadn't slept in a really long time. He looked at her as though gauging what to do next or surprised to find himself in the hallway of her building. 

"Grissom, what are you doing here? It's two o'clock in the morning. You could have just paged me."

"Uh, no. It's... not work."

Sara stepped out into the hall to better face him. He didn't move; just continued staring at her. "Well then what is it? You look awful. Come on inside for a bit, warm up."

When they got inside and his jacket was hung up, she turned to him, "How far away did you park? You jacket's all wet."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I like walking."

An eyebrow rose. "You like walking?" 

"It's a nice way to think..."

They seated themselves on the couch. "How long were you walking for?"

His eyes looked away as he thought. He spotted the clock and stared at it for a moment. "A couple of hours I guess. Nothing else on television." 

__

He was out walking when I was out walking... what were the chances of that? 

Sara turned to Grissom. "Uh, did you want some coffee or anything?"

"No thanks... well... okay." 

Sara smiled and went into the kitchen. As she was preparing the coffee, she was marginally aware that he'd stood up and was walking around her apartment and she realized he'd never been to her place before. He was standing by her bookcase now, eyes perusing the titles; his hands were shoved inside his pockets. 

She was pouring the water into the machine and he was peering at her music collection. "Did you want to listen to something?" she asked. 

"Um... no, this is fine. I'm liking the silence." He said looking up at her from his bent position. She stared at him a moment, his words creeping into her being with a sense of disquietness. 

"Okay." She turned the machine on and joined him in the living room. "It'll take a few minutes." She knew it needn't be said but the urge to say anything was too strong. 

She stood beside him as he continued to examine her music collection, not really knowing what to do with herself. Having him in her home was causing more chaos in her mind that she'd ever imagined. The need to impress was strong but she quelled it in the desire to appear normal and everyday. With much strength she steeled herself against picking up the few out of place objects, choosing to allow him to see her place as she lived it. If he didn't like it then she knew there'd be no hope for them. This was who she was, like it or not. 

He turned to her then, and their eyes caught one another's in the dim light of the one lamp. She thought her heart would leap from her chest and movement suddenly became impossible. His eyes, dark for lack of light, held their own sparkle deep inside and it glowed like small embers threatening to spill over. His eyes roamed over her face as his mouth worked, but no sound came out. 

He began to lean over and just as his mouth opened to speak, the sudden gurgling of the coffee machine broke the spell. His mouth clamped shut and Sara blinked and backed up. "Uh... coffee's ready." And she disappeared into the kitchen where she braced herself against the counter trying to catch her breath. There'd been moments when their eyes had caught one another's at work but there was always that barrier that had prevented anything from happening. Now they were alone in her apartment, in the wee hours of the morning, and she felt suddenly very afraid and nervous. Her hands shook as she took the cups down from the cupboard; she held them to her chest and ordered her body to relax itself. _It's just Grissom, for crying out loud! _But her body had other plans and her heart wouldn't stop the staccato rhythm it had started. 

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, once again willing her body to obey. And then jumped and squealed when his voice appeared at her ear, "Cream, no sugar." he said, his voice low and sultry to her ears. 

"Jesus, Grissom! You could have given me a heart attack!" 

"You were taking a long time, I thought I'd come and help." He came around and stood beside her, too close actually, she could feel the heat emanating from him and he disturbed what equilibrium she'd managed to force on her body. She gave him a sideways glance but he was staring at the mugs in front of her. "Uh... I'll get the milk, then." He said, and went to her fridge. 

Sara closed her eyes and swore to herself under her breath for her obviously agitated actions. She poured the coffee, careful not to spill it - her hands were still shaking. He arrived with the milk just as she replaced the pot and she prayed he hadn't seen her shaking. After the coffees were prepared she handed his mug to him and as he went to take it his fingers brushed against hers. It was impossible for her remove her hand from beneath his, her body just wouldn't obey. She met his eyes and was taken aback by the swirling darkness she saw in them, just like they'd been in the living room. His fingers gently grazed over hers and it sent currents of electricity up her arm and through her body. 

His other hand came up and took the coffee cup from their hands and the touch lasted a moment longer until he dropped his hand, smiled softly and turned toward the living room. She watched him walk away - a mad rushing sound in her ears - before retrieving her own cup and joining him on the couch. 

They drank their coffee in silence. Sara's mind was a flurry of activity as she pondered his reasons for being here - at this late hour. This was so very not like the man she knew. Wrapping both hands around the cup and savouring the heat, she posed the question to him. 

He took another sip, swallowed it and then turned to her. But said nothing. His eyes merely traveled over her face, and she could see him trying to come up with some plausible reason, or at least that's what _that _part of her mind was telling her. 

He shrugged his shoulders. "I - was in the neighborhood and... thought I'd stop by..."

"At two o'clock in the morning?"

He lowered his eyes and took a deep breath. "Look... I really don't know, Sara. All I know is... I miss you."

"We see each other at work almost every day, Griss."

He bit his lip. "Yeah, I know we do. We _see _each other but we don't actually spend any time together any more."

Sara suddenly felt the anger well up inside her and she bit her own lip to keep from exploding with it. He needed to finish what he was saying, so she nodded her head, "Go on."

He looked up at her. "I miss you." The words came out sounding like a plea for her to just accept it. 

"Well... I miss you too Griss." 

He sighed and looked away before getting off the couch to stand by her bookshelf. It seemed Grissom was only comfortable around anything having to do with his job, and her selection of books certainly afforded such a luxury. Confused as to his odd behavior, and frustrated as well, Sara joined him. "Grissom, what _are _you doing here?"

He didn't answer immediately but kept staring ahead at the books. "I needed to see you." Was all he said.

The anger surged in Sara again at his deliberately obtuse answers, but this time there was no quelling it. It surged passed her lips. "Grissom. We've barely spoken at work in months, not since... well, a while. You totally ignore me, sending me off on cases with everybody else _but _you, and sometimes solo and now you expect me to believe that after all you've done to push me away, I'm supposed to let you back into my life just like that?"

Grissom continued to stare straight ahead, avoiding her direct gaze. There was no movement from him at all and Sara was beginning to wonder if he'd gone into some sort of fugue. And then he spoke, in quiet tones. "I've made some mistakes in my life, Sara. Most of them I regret, some I just chalk up to experience. But there's one that I'll never be able to forgive myself for if I don't do something about it soon." The words came slowly as though being weighed and judged before being uttered. He looked at her and then looked away just as quickly. "You say I'm not an emotional person, that I don't feel. But I've let my emotions make decisions in my life and I'm not happy about them. I felt scared and I reacted. I backed off." 

He turned to look at her again and this time he kept her gaze. "I don't want you to leave Sara. Not again. I don't think I could handle that. I would rather work side by side with you with no words between us than to have you gone for good, where I can't see you, or hear you or... touch you.

I'm so sorry Sara for pushing you away like I did. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could handle you seeing other people, as long as I had you near me. But it hurt, Sara. More than you could ever know. So I backed away. I let you have your life. It was too painful to be around you and not... and know that..." he hung his head and brought his hand up to rest on his forehead. 

At first Sara thought a migraine had hit as she knew they sometimes did in times of stress, and _boy! _did this seem like a stressful time for him. Her heart pounded in her chest at his words and no matter how much she wanted to move, her body stayed where it was and she just stared at the man who had elicited so many conflicting emotions in her system over the past three years. 

Only when she heard the strange garbled sound did she notice that his shoulders were trembling and realize that he might be... _crying. _She took a step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Griss?" she called quietly. 

She heard the sound of him taking a deep shuttering breath before he turned away from her. But she could see how he tried to wipe his face with his hand in as nonchalant a way as possible under the close circumstances. Her anger slowly faded to be replaced by a curious sensation of tenderness toward this man. Never in her life had she seen him shed tears. There were times when he'd been close but he always held it in check. And yet now it seemed he couldn't. They came whether he wanted them to or not. 

"Griss?" she called again. 

"I'm sorry Sara, for..."

"For crying? For showing that you feel something other than mere professional courtesy toward me?" 

She heard him groan. "I don't want to lose you, Sara."

She smiled in irony. "Grissom. Do you want to know where I was when you were out walking?"

He winced but looked at her all the same. 

"I was walking too."

He didn't answer for a moment and she wondered if he'd heard her or if he even cared. He lifted his head up high and sniffled before looking back at her. 

"I do that when I need to think."

"Oh."

"I was thinking... about you." There was more she wanted to say, but it seemed too heavy for the moment. 

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. And I was angry, Grissom. Cause I didn't know why..." 

He let out a long breath. "I'm so sorry, Sara..." His hand reached out and touched her face and he looked at his hand as though it didn't belong to him and had acted on its own. Then he looked into her eyes and his hand relaxed and began caressing her cheek. 

She leaned into it, holding it to her face with her own. A touch felt so good at the moment - skin on skin - and it was Grissom touching her. "You have no idea, Grissom..."

"I do... I really do." His face came closer and her eyes closed just before his lips brushed against hers so softly, so delicately as though testing to see if this would really be acceptable. A touch, so simple, so pure, so chaste and yet so full of promises and prospects. 

She felt his fear and his need as acutely as though he'd just opened himself and let her in completely. There was nothing she could have done to precipitate such an encounter.

For Grissom to give this much, there must have been quite the battle happening in his own soul for him to venture out on a night like this and come to her, begging her forgiveness. Her love for him overpowered any sane thought and his lips on hers, so soft and gentle, were not aiding in her conscious internal dialogue. 

When she felt his tongue brush up against her lips, that dialogue exploded into smithereens and all thought left her mind as she opened her mouth and welcomed him in, her tongue pulling and sucking on his own. And when he groaned deep in his throat, her arms wrapped themselves around his waist and her hands fanned along his back and began exploring the muscles as they rippled with his movements. 

There was nothing she could do but give in to this man's power over her, as he finally used it and willed her body to his, molding it to become one. Ice became fire and coolness became lava as their lips and tongues melded. There was nothing more to be done but give in. Every argument had been given - either with each other or with themselves. There was nothing to be said. All that was left was to _feel. _To follow the heart no matter where it lead, even if it meant alien territory where no walls could be found. 

They gave in and followed, their mind giving in, the body following. They found themselves on the couch, their hands exploring where only their dreams had allowed them to. Now they explored and discovered and reveled in each other, giving and accepting, never holding back, only moving forward. For there was no turning back now. The journey had begun. They'd gone beyond the point of no return. 

With gasping breaths they pulled away from each other, their hands still seeking each other out, as their foreheads rested together. 

"I... didn't mean for this to happen." Grissom said on jittery breaths. 

"You didn't?"

"I... didn't know... what was gonna happen..."

"Oh..."

"But..." he said, staring deeply into her eyes. "I don't regret it. Not one bit."

Sara smiled. "Neither do I." And she leaned in and pressed her lips to his again. 

"Why did we wait so long?" Grissom asked. 

"We?"

Grissom grinned. "Well... okay... _me."_

"Well... that would be for _you _to answer." 

He looked down, shaking his head, looking for answers. "I really don't know."

Sara looked at him, her eyes smiling in that very knowing way he'd come to expect from her. Even without much communication, he realized she knew more about him than he realized. Communication wasn't the only way to get to know someone. Observation went a long way toward that goal as well. 

"There is _so _much to consider, Sara. So much that can happen..."

She put a hand on his face, her thumb silencing his lips. "We'll deal with it. Policies are made and policies can be changed."

"It's not that simple -."

"Why not? Why do we have to complicate matters all the time?"

Grissom pursed his lips. "It's not that it's complicated, it's just that..."

"Just what?"

Grissom stared into her eyes, so dark they were almost black. The intensity that flowed from her being was empowering as it was overpowering. He found it almost impossible to resist her. And now... Grissom sighed. 

Sara bent her head to look up into Grissom's downcast eyes. "How badly to do you want this... Gil?" 

She'd never used his first name before. Hardly anybody did anymore. It made the moment seem even more personal. This was Sara. And he was Gil. No longer co-workers with a professional attachment - Grissom and Sidle. Now they were man and woman - Gil and Sara - whose feelings for each other went much deeper then mere professional attachment. 

He stared into her eyes for the umpteenth time that night, and finally saw what was there all along. 

She had stayed because she'd had faith that sooner or later, _something _would happen. She'd had faith that he, Gil Grissom, would come out of his shell and finally _see _and _feel _what had always been there. "I _do _want this. I want this so bad it hurts... inside." He cupped his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him to rest their foreheads together again, anything to be touching. "Oh god... you have no idea, Sara how hard it's been these last three years. Wanting you and not being able to have you... Seeing you with... other people. Wanting to just reach and touch you."

She moved her cheek against his - more skin. "I know, Gil, I know." She sighed, a long, shaky, tormented sound in his ears. "I just wish... I just wish it wouldn't have taken so long..."

"I know."

She pulled back from him and smiled. "It seems we 'know' a lot, don't we?"

He shrugged. "Hindsight's always twenty-twenty." 

"Yeah..." she said, looking away, processing that last few minutes. 

They sat in silence, Their minds busy at work. 

Then Sara spoke. "Where do we go from here?"

Grissom looked into her eyes. "I dunno." And then he shrugged. "I don't wanna lie anymore."

Sara stared at him and then smiled. "Me neither."

Grissom suddenly sat upright, taking his hands from Sara's body. He stared at her with a fear in his wide eyes that caused her heart to skip a beat. 

"Grissom...?"

His mouth twisted as he looked at her. 

"Grissom, what's wrong?" Sara's voice rose a notch as his fear encompassed her and drew her to him. 

He looked away, but his chest rose and fell with each gasp of shallow breath. He turned to her again and his eyes roamed over her face as though searching for some sign to continue. "I... have to tell you something... that might change your mind."

Sara scowled in confusion. "Grissom... what could you possibly tell me that would change my mind? What, are you a cross-dresser? Used to be a woman?"

Grissom smiled at her attempt at diffusing the tension, then the smile faded. "No, nothing like that. No... this is... more serious."

The smile left Sara's face. "Grissom, you're scaring me. Just say it."

He stared at her a moment longer, his eyes pleading with hers in silent supplication the words that he could never utter himself. 

"I'm going deaf."

Everything stopped. 

Sara stopped breathing, stopped seeing, stopped hearing. 

Stopped living. 

Her heart lay like a cold lump of dead flesh in her chest, sucking the life force from her body. Her hands lay still and motionless in her lap. 

The man who had stolen her heart so many years ago... The man who, with nothing but a look, a word, a touch, could elicit such fierce reactions from her body... The man who sat before her, whose lips had pressed against hers in soft tenderness, as would a lover... He was in pain. 

The breath blew from her body in a gust. "Oh." It was the only word she could think of to say. 

Grissom hung his head, his shoulders slumped. And she could almost feel his precious poise cracking before her. It pulled at her. She rested a hand on his cheek, guiding his face to hers before brushing his lips with hers. His body jerked in her hand as touch shocked him. He pulled back, eyes wide. 

"Sara...?"

"Shh... It's okay. You're not alone... not anymore. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it." She whispered in his ear as she pulled his head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. "I want you as you are, Gil."

She felt him swallowing convulsively and his arms tightened around her, holding her to him in a fierce embrace. 

"I love you..." she heard him whisper in her ear. A sound so low she almost couldn't hear it. Then his lips pressed against the skin of her neck and she knew it was what she'd heard. 

She returned his kiss and whispered against his flesh the words he had so longed to hear from her lips. "I love you, Gil."


End file.
